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Showing posts with label Rosh HaShanah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rosh HaShanah. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 13, 2023
Monday, September 6, 2021
Rosh HaShanah: "With the Shofar"
"With the Shofar"
Thoughts on Rosh HaShanah 2021
Click here to view as PDF
The Gemara (Rosh HaShanah 34b) describes the structure of Musaf on Rosh HaShanah. The Amidah includes three unique berakhot – Malkhuyot (Kingship), Zikhronot (Remembrances) and Shofarot, and each part concludes with the sounds of the shofar. Rabbah explained:
The Holy One, Blessed be He, said: “Recite before Me on
Rosh HaShanah Malkhuyot, Zikhronot, and Shofarot. Malkhiyot – so that
you will crown me as King over you; Zikhronot – so that your remembrances
will rise before Me for good. And with what? With the shofar.
The shofar
isn’t blown as a “standalone” trumpet on Rosh HaShanah, but rather as an “accompaniment”
to the words that we speak. The sounds of the shofar complement our statements
of honor to God as our King and requests that He remember us favorably.
The shofar, then, is a
rare opportunity to introduce a unique “musical accompaniment” to the tefilot
on the holidays. Why?
The late neurologist Oliver
Sacks once wrote about his meetings with patients who were struggling with
expressive aphasia, unable to speak their thoughts or feelings. He would sing
to them “Happy Birthday,” and then marvel as they joined in, singing the tune
and sometimes even the words of the song. Sacks explained that the language
capacities of these patients were never lost, but rather buried “inside” them,
and it was the tempo, rhythm and melody of music which brought them out.[1] He
cited, as well, the case of an elderly man who struggled to put together simple
sentences, but could still play the piano, read and write music, take part in a
weekly singing group, and – most surprisingly – read a passage chosen at random
from the Torah with use of the music cantillation notes (ta’amim).[2]
R. Shimon b. Semah Duran z”l, a great 15th
Century Sephardic authority, explained that just as the vowels (nikud)
define the precise meaning of a Hebrew word, the ta’amim bring out the underlying
messages of the laws and narratives of the Torah.[3] And
although it is generally accepted that (in unideal situations) one may read
from the Torah without ta’amim, R.
Hayim Soloveitchik z”l was adamant that each of the ta’amim be
read properly, at times even forcing the Torah reader to repeat a word or verse
to correct a mistaken ta’am.[4] He
seemingly reasoned that the rhythmic flow of the reading is inseparable from text
itself.
“R.
Yohanan said: Concerning anyone who reads from the Torah without melody or
studies the Mishnah without a song, the verse states: ‘So too I gave them
statutes that were not good’ (Yehezkel 20:25” (Megilah 32a). Tosafot (s.v.
ve-hashoneh) referred to the ancient practice of reciting Mishnayot to
a particular tune as an aide for memory. The text couldn’t stand alone. It
had to be blended together with the melody of song.
The music
which accompanies words, then, is like the soul which fills the body. It is a force
which instills life, elevating the words from sound to meaning. Neither the
body nor soul is complete on its own in this world. Instead, they must come
together to sustain the miraculous entity of life.
…And with what? With the shofar.
Carefully
chosen words of praise and request represent the “body” of Rosh HaShanah. The shofar
is its “soul.” The prayers focus on the significant aspects of our
relationship with God – our acknowledgement of Him (Malkhuyot) and His
remembrance of us (Zikhronot). They fashion the “body” of the day. But
what is a body without its soul? Therein lies the secret of the shofar. The
majestic sound of the tekiah, the broken sigh of the shevarim and
the whimpering cry of the teruah form the unique musical accompaniment
of Rosh HaShanah. They are the soul.
I hope
and pray that this Rosh HaShanah will be for you and your family an experience which
is enriched by the lively union of body and soul – tefilah and shofar.
Tuesday, August 17, 2021
Sunday, October 18, 2020
Rosh HaShanah: Noticing
Noticing
Thoughts on Rosh HaShanah 2020
Click here to view as PDF
I remember the
first time that I noticed someone coughing. I was praying Shaharit on a Monday
morning shortly after Purim and the man sitting to my right let out a weak
cough. I instinctively stopped reading and looked up at the man. Several
minutes later, a man to my left cleared his throat. This time I kept my head
down, but I became distracted, stumbling over the next few words that came out
of my mouth.
Coronavirus has
forced us to notice. Today we notice the people around us in unprecedented
ways. We’ve also become more aware of the physical spaces we inhabit, paying
careful attention to exactly where we walk, sit and stand. And, on a deeper
lever, we’ve developed a heightened sensitivity to our personal feelings of
fear and vulnerability.
Avraham Avenu is
the Torah personality we focus upon most during Rosh HaShanah. We consistently
invoke his memory and actions in our prayers as a source of inspiration
and merit. Avraham’s life centered around two seemingly different endeavors: hesed
to other people and a deep connection to God. These actions were drawn
together, however, by his unique way of noticing. Avraham’s hesed began
with his sight of people in need: “And he lifted up his eyes, and behold, three
men stood nearby” (Bereshit 18:2). And
his discovery of God was much the same: “On the third day, Avraham lifted up
his eyes and saw the place afar” (Bereshit 22:4). Avraham was the paradigmatic noticer.
His sensitivity to the world and people around him was the driving force behind
his remarkable life.
The Rabbis taught:
“God is my light (Tehilim 27:1) – This is Rosh HaShanah.”[1]
Rosh HaShanah is a day of light. It is a time of noticing. Indeed, HaRambam
wrote that the very function of the shofar is to awaken us from our
spiritual slumber, directing our focus to the matters of life which are truly
significant.[2]
Surprisingly, though, Jewish mystics designate night as the time of divine
judgment (din). It would make sense, then, to associate Rosh HaShanah –
“The Day of Judgment” (Yom HaDin) – with the darkness of night. The
Rabbis likewise taught: “Blow a shofar at the New Moon, at the covered time
for our holiday (Tehilim 81:4) – Which is the holiday on which the moon is
covered? You must say that this is Rosh HaShanah.”[3]
How can Rosh HaShanah be a time of “light” and noticing, while at once existing
as a time darkness and concealment?
The story is told about two men who were each given the task of identifying
their friends in the darkness of night. One was given a flashlight, and he
easily recognized his acquaintances by shining the light at their faces. The
other, however, never got a flashlight, and was therefore forced to identify
those around him by carefully listening to the sounds of their voices and
footsteps. Predictably, the first person performed best in the challenge, as
the sight of people’s faces is far more revealing than audial clues. The second
individual, however, acquired a skill that would last him long into the sun-lit
hours of daytime. He had developed a sensitivity akin to that of a blind
person; he could identify his contacts in any future situation – even if his
vision was blocked.[4]
The challenge of concealment brought forth the opportunity to notice.
I underwent a
related experience several years ago. Following a severe virus, I lost my sense
of taste for a period of over a year. Surprisingly, though, I discovered that I
naturally developed a new skill in that midst. Without actually tasting the
food or drink in my mouth, I could still identify exactly what it was. Several
of my students put me to the test. They created different concoctions of water,
soda, grape juice and other beverages, handing me the cups to drink while I was
blindfolded. Judging the drinks solely by their texture – how they felt in my
mouth, on my teeth and tongue, and down my throat – I scored a perfect score on
the “taste test.” It was the “concealing” nature of my lost taste that enhanced
in me the ability to notice.
Rosh HaShanah is a
time of mysterious din. It pushes us into the hidden realm of the
Divine. The challenge is daunting, as the fear of stumbling in the darkness is
real. But the opportunity is ripe, as well. We can choose to falter or we can
decide to notice. We can accept the darkness or we can discover the light.
Following in the
ways of Avraham Avenu, we too must notice. Ironically, coronavirus has actually
made the task easier to fulfil. So, pay attention to your surroundings. Find
God’s presence in the world around you. Raise your eyes above the masks of
others. Gaze into their eyes and notice them. And embrace those difficult
feelings of fear and vulnerability to notice yourself.
[2] HaRambam, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Teshuvah 3:4.
[3] Rosh HaShanah 8a.
[4] R. Yisshak Hutner z”l mentioned this parable in an entirely different context in Pahad Yisshak: Purim (Brooklyn, NY, 2004), Inyan 34. The essay was translated into English in Pinchas Stolper, Living Beyond Time: The Mystery and Meaning of the Jewish Festivals (Brooklyn, NY, 2003), pg. 299-302.
Rosh HaShanah: Yom Teruah
Yom Teruah
Thoughts on Rosh HaShanah 2020
Click here to view as PDF
At the start of a
year which we hope will restore a sense of normalcy to our lives, Rosh HaShanah
will be anything but normal. This year we won’t be sounding a shofar on
the first day of the holiday, in deference to the rabbinic restriction
of shofar on Shabbat.[1]
How can we appreciate a day whose very essence is the sounds of the shofar without
a shofar? How may we approach the “Yom Teruah” (Bemidbar
29:1) without a teruah?
Imagine the scene
of an orchestra which experiences unexpected technical difficulties just as it
prepares to play. The instruments were wrongly arranged and it will take hours
to properly assemble them. The conductor turns to face the audience and
embarrassedly announces that the show is postponed until the instruments are
fixed.
Now imagine a
different scene. A band takes the stage in a concert hall. And just as they
tune up their instruments and begin to play, the room turns dark and the
electricity goes out. As the people in the audience begin to nervously shuffle
in their seats, the band leaders step aside from their instruments, walk to the
edge of the stage and begin to sing with all their might. The crowd erupts in
applause, spontaneously joining in with the chorus and reveling in every second
of the unique experience.
Why is the outcome
of these two scenarios so different? Why can’t the orchestra adjust to the
situation in a way similar to the band at the concert? The answer, of course,
is that an orchestra can’t play as an orchestra without instruments. Its
function, by definition, is to make music with instruments. The function
of a band, in contrast, is to sing songs. And although they generally do so
with the accompaniment of instruments, the truly skilled group can adjust to
sing even without. Pouring their hearts into the singing, the band may even
seize that opportunity to raise the situation to a new level, generating a
unique experience for their listeners in the absence of any sound from an instrument.
What does “Yom
Teruah” actually mean? Okelos translated it as “Yom Yebabah” – a
“Day of Crying.” The essence of Rosh HaShanah, then, lies not in the sound of
the shofar per se, but in the cries that we raise up to God on the day –
with or without a shofar. It’s no wonder, then, that the Hakhamim determined
the calls of shevarim and teruah by comparing them to the cries
of the mother of the fallen general Sisera.[2]
The shofar plays not as our “orchestra,” but as the “musical
accompaniment” to our band of prayers to God.[3]
This year will
begin differently than usual. The first day of Rosh HaShanah will present us
with the challenge of realizing the “Yom Teruah” as a “Day of Crying” without
a shofar. The electricity will go out and we will be forced to
decide between postponing the concert or stepping forward and singing our
hearts away. So, go ahead. Take a deep breath and step forward in prayer. Find
the courage within to replace the external sounds of the shofar with the
genuine cries to God that lay dormant in your heart.
[1] Rosh HaShanah 29b.
[2] Rosh HaShanah 33b.
[3] Cf. R. Yeruham Olshin, Yerah LaMoadim: Yamim Noraim vol. 1 (Lakewood, NJ, 2014), ma’amar 37, for the well-known halakhic opinion of R. Yisshak Zev Soloveitchik z”l that the shofar plays an integral role to the tefilah of Rosh HaShanah. See, as well, R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Blessings and Thanksgiving: Reflections on the Siddur and Synagogue (New Milford, CT, 2019), pg. 103.
Sunday, September 29, 2019
Rosh HaShanah: The Sounds of the Shofar
The Sounds of the Shofar
Thoughts on Rosh HaShanah 2019
Click here to view as PDF
The Jewish nation
has long been referred to as “The People of the Book.” For good reason. After
all, God instructed that the many covenants and experiences underwent by Am
Yisrael be eternalized as written words in the form of Torah. “Other
religions had holy places, holy times, and holy people,” R. Jonathan Sacks
wrote, but “Judaism was the first faith to focus on holy words, on a book and
its power to transform the lives of those who learn and live its teachings.”[1]
It is fitting,
then, that our tradition consistently insists on “the word” in its various
practices. Devotional prayer finds a home beyond the contemplative heart and
mind – in the spoken words of the siddur. Thought upon the words of
Torah is similarly insufficient, as we instead gather for its public reading
three times a week and on holidays.[2]
Sounding the shofar on Rosh HaShanah, however, is altogether different.
By characterizing Rosh HaShanah as a yom teru’ah – “a day of trumpeting”
(Bemidbar 29:1), the Torah hinted at the uniqueness of this day. Instructing us
to part ways with speech, the Torah prescribed a day that is dominated by the wordless
sounds of the shofar. Why?
Consider, in this
context, the perplexing statement of Ramban that “the whole Torah is names of
God.” He explained that closing the gaps in between words and sentences and
reading the letters of the Torah in a single flourish – as one long word – reveals
an entirely incoherent name of the Divine.[3]
Scholars have long pondered the significance of this cryptically “meaningless”
reading of the Torah.[4]
Contemporary thinker David Gelernter, however, suggested: “It captures the
conviction that there is more to the text than just its sense. The extra
ingredient is holiness. And you can see sanctity better when you blank out the
distraction of meaning.”[5]
Ironically, the text reaches this particular depth by means of an initial
rendering of its words “meaningless.”
The “meaningless”
sounds of the shofar present a similar possibility. R. Yehuda Amital
wrote: “The sound of the shofar expresses more than one can convey in
words.”[6]
David Gelernter similarly explained that the “territory of the shofar”
is the territory beyond language.[7]
The cries of the shofar signify our transition from the realm of
confined definition into one of unconstricted potential.
The sounds of the shofar
are unsolicited invitations to all who hear them. They beckon us to listen
closely, encouraging us to courageously determine the meaning of those
mysterious sounds as they pertain to our lives. Hearing the shofar, each
member of the am yod’ei terua, “nation who knows the trumpeting”
(Tehilim 89:16), is given a personal key. Grabbing hold of that key, we are
tasked with unlocking the meaning of those voiceless cries for ourselves.
The unique nature
of the shofar manifests itself in another context, as well. The Torah’s
mandate to sound the shofar on Rosh HaShanah is different than all
its other commandments. Whereas the Torah accompanies its command of various
active missvot with a description of their background and meaning – why
men don tefillin every morning, why we sit in the sukkah on
Sukkot, etc. – there is nary a textual hint regarding the purpose or meaning of
the shofar.
But there is, to be
sure, a long history of sounding the shofar in our tradition. The Shofarot
section of Musaf on Rosh HaShanah bears mention of the shofar’s
blasts at Har Sinai and those that will sound at the coming of Mashiah.
Paradoxically, the calls of the shofar represent both the crowning moment
of our nation’s past as well as its anticipated future. “Not only the infinite
past but also the infinite future,” R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik wrote, “that
future in which there gleams the reflection of the image of eternity, also the
splendor of the eschatological vision, arise out of the present moment,
fleeting as a dream.”[8]
The cries of the shofar, then, transcend not only a world of words, but one
of time as well. What is the significance of a reality that exists “above
time”?
Of the many case studies
written by the great neurologist Oliver Sacks, “The Lost Mariner” remains a
classic. It is the story of Jimmie G., the man suffering from retrograde
amnesia, who met with Dr. Sacks in the mid-1970’s. Sacks described Jimmie G. as
“isolated in a single moment of being.” Unable to retain any memory after 1945,
he lived with “a moat or lacuna of forgetting all round him.” Troubled by his
patient’s sorry state of life, Sacks then wrote in his notes, “He is man
without a past or future, stuck in a constantly changing, meaningless moment.”
Uncertain about the
proper treatment for this patient, Dr. Sacks sought the advice of his mentor,
the Russian neuropsychologist A.R. Luria. “There is little or no hope of any
recovery in his memory,” Luria wrote to Sacks, “But a man does not consist of
memory alone. He has feeling, will, sensibilities, moral being – matters of
which neuropsychology cannot speak.” The people who surrounded Jimmie G.,
however, were unsure. They spoke about him as a “lost soul,” an individual
whose soul was tragically claimed by disease. But then Sacks began to observe
his patient outside of the office, in several different contexts: at prayer in
the chapel, listening to music, and outdoors gardening. He found an altogether
different personality in these contexts, observing that Jimmie G. then
“absorbed in an act, an act of his whole being, which carried feeling and
meaning in an organic continuity and unity.”
Oliver Sacks
discovered in Jimmie G. a reality wherein one transcends the constrictions of
“spatial time,” and enters into an “intentional time.” It is a realm that parts
ways from cognition and mental understanding, and is governed instead by
emotions and spirituality. And although this realm is rendered incoherent by
empirical science, Sacks importantly learned, “empiricism takes no account of
the soul, no account of what constitutes and determines personal being.” [9]
The wordless cry of
the shofar opens our hearts and minds to reveal what it says to us.
Transcending the confines of words, traditional intellect and time, listening
to the sounds of the shofar inspires a uniquely personal experience for
each individual. It is our brush with transcendence, offering us the
opportunity to intuit its message to our particular lives. Don’t miss it!
[1] R. Jonathan Sacks, “Foreword,” Books of the
People (New Milford, CT, 2017), pg. xiii.
[2] Shulhan Arukh accordingly
ruled that one need not recited a birkat ha-torah upon mere thoughts of
Torah, see Orah Hayim 47:4 and Biur HaGra ad. loc.
[3] Commentary of Ramban to the
Torah (Makhon Yerushalayim, Jerusalem, IS, 2006), pg. 7. See, as
well, Responsa of Radva”z vol. 3 (siman elef 68).
[4] See, most, recently R. Aharon
Lichtenstein’s comments in R. Chaim Sabbato’s In Quest of Your Presence:
Conversations with Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein (Tel Aviv, IS, 2011), pg.
43-44.
[5] David Gelernter, Judaism: A
Way of Being (Grand Rapids, MI, 2009), pg. 80. Cf. Moshe Hallamish’s An
Introduction to the Kabbalah (New York, NY, 1999), pg. 212-213, regarding talmud
Torah without comprehension.
[6] R. Yehuda Amital, When God is Near: On the
High Holidays (New Milford, CT, 2015), pg. 76.
[7] A Way of Being, pg. 73.
[8] R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Halakhic Man
(Philadelphia, PA, 1983), pg. 113.
[9] Oliver Sacks, “The Lost Mariner,” in The Man
Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales (New York, NY,
1998), pg. 23-42.
Wednesday, September 25, 2019
Monday, September 23, 2019
Wednesday, September 11, 2019
Tuesday, September 10, 2019
Friday, September 14, 2018
Rosh HaShanah: Simplicity
Simplicity*
Thoughts on Rosh HaShanah 2018
Click here to view as PDF
The purpose of Rosh HaShanah is to return us to simplicity, to the
cry of the infant, before one is caught up in the complications and
complexities of life. (R. Yehuda Amital)[1]
Why do we blow the shofar on Rosh
HaShanah? HaRambam famously suggested that the sounds of the shofar
serve as our wakeup call from the spiritual slumber that has overcome us over
the course of the year. They divert our attention from the “vanities of time”
and redirect us towards worthy endeavors.[2]
But how does the shofar do that? What lies at the core of those
enigmatic cries of the ram’s horn?
R. Aharon Lichtenstein z”l, the former
rosh yeshivah of Yeshivat Har Etzion, was renowned for his complexity of
thought. It often appeared to his students as if nothing was simple to him. Rav
Aharon meticulously dissected each and every issue, scanning all of the
relevant sources and breaking them down into a variety of components and
dimensions. Following his death, however, R. Lichtenstein’s son remembered the
time when a student asked his father why he kissed the sefer Torah. The
young man expected his rabbi to respond with a list of sources and relevant
analyses, and was therefore surprised when Rav Aharon explained that he did so
simply “because a Jew wants to kiss the sefer Torah.”[3]
It was a perspective of simplicity, as
well, that guided the great 13th Century French rabbi, Shimshon of
Chinon, in his approach to prayer. R. Shimshon’s contemporaries reported that
even after growing proficient in the many mystical traditions and intentions of
Judaism he continued to pray with the basic thoughts and understandings of a
young child.[4]
Consider, in this context, our relationships
with one another. The misunderstandings that sometimes arise between us are
misleading. They cause us to singularly focus on the difficulties and
complications, and to forget what lies at their foundation. When the issues are
ultimately resolved, however, we often realize that our relationships are
actually sustained by a simple and basic connection.
I trust that everyone has experienced a
moment of profound simplicity over the course of their relationship with the
Almighty. On one particular afternoon several months ago, I waited anxiously
for an update regarding the health status of one of my family members. As I
anticipated positive news, the difficult message that I received was deflating.
I was immediately struck by a barrage of emotions – depression, abandonment and
loneliness. And in that very moment I felt the layers of complex intellectual
connection which I had long worked to develop with God melt away. I reached out
for Him with the simple cries of a baby.
The shofar’s secret is hidden
in the simplicity of its call. Our spiritual vision has become
obstructed by the “vanities of time.” They have distracted us from the plain
sight of truth. And it is the unassuming sounds of the shofar that
chillingly remind us of the nature of our connection to God. They awaken us to
its simplicity.
[1] “Simplicity in a Complex
World,” in When God is Near: On the High Holidays (New Milford, CT,
2015), pg. 104.
[2] Hilkhot Teshuvah
3:4.
[3] R. Moshe Lichtenstein, “Be-khol
libi derashtikha,” in Ashrei Adam Oz Lo Vakh (Rishon LeZion, IS,
2018), pg. 93.
[4] See Shu”t Rivash (no.
157) and Shu”t MaHarshal (no. 98).
Wednesday, September 27, 2017
Akedat Yisshak
As we make our way from Rosh HaShanah - when we read Akedat Yisshak from the Torah, to Yom Kippur - when the Akedah took place, I thought it appropriate to dedicate some time to reanalyzing that episode.
3) Read my written divrei Torah for VaYera 2015 and Shemot 2017 - both relevant to the Akedah.
4) As you might expect, there has been a lot of good stuff written on the Akedah. I have chosen several pieces that I have enjoyed, each from a different genre of Torah analysis:
a) Read R. Yitzchak Ethshalom's textual analysis of the Akedah, in his Between the Lines of the Bible: Genesis, here.
b) Read Rav Shagar's analysis of the midrashim related to the Akedah, in his Faith Shattered and Restored: Judaism in the Postmodern Age, here.
c) Read Kenneth Seeskin's philosophical summary and brief analysis of the Akedah, in his Thinking About the Torah: A Philosopher Reads the Bible, here.
d) Read Rav Soloveitchik's homiletic analysis of the Akedah, in his Abraham's Journey: Reflections on the Life of the Founding Patriarch, here.
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